


I can count on you, you can count on me

by Herbeloved82



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sick Marcus, Sick Tomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herbeloved82/pseuds/Herbeloved82
Summary: When one is sick, the other takes good care of him.Chapter 1: sick MarcusChapter 2: sick Tomas





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yesterday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday/gifts).



> For the dearest yesterday, corrupted with this amazing show. Hope you enjoy it, darling.   
> Thank you so much to casual tornado and Starrylizard for their help as Betas.

Driving usually helped Marcus to keep his mind from other things, like demons violating young girls, or boys with a terrible past, feeding on their weakness and leaving behind so much destruction it was a miracle so many of them survived. Or -- like now, from the pain exploding behind his eyes and the various aching crawling all over him. 

It started that morning when he woke up with a stuffy nose and scratchy throat. Marcus didn't pay attention to that. They had to hit the road soon and sickness wasn't a good enough reason to stop for a few more hours. 

Now, hours later, he almost regretted his decision. His eyes burned and it was almost impossible for him to keep them open, it felt like someone had thrown sand into them. He knew his forehead was burning too if he only dared to touch it. 

It was rare for him to fall sick. The last time it happened was years ago and he still could count on someone having his back when it occurred. It wasn't like he didn't trust Tomas, far from it, but Marcus felt it was his duty to take care of the younger man. It was his fault if his life had been ruined and he had lost everything, the least he could do was not to be a burden for him. 

By pure stubbornness, they almost reached the next city on the list Bennett gave them when the coughing began. That wasn't good. His lungs were on fire too and his breath was getting more and more labored. 

"Marcus? Are you okay?" 

He had probably lost track of time while trying not to choke because Tomas sounded worried, more worried than usual, so now it would be almost impossible to hide how shitty he felt. 

Tomas was like a mother hen and Marcus, for obvious reasons, was his favorite victim. Marcus could imagine Tomas taking care of his sister and nephew -- the family he was forced to leave behind -- and the people of his parish, forgetting about himself and his needs. 

"Fine," he was able to wheeze. Of course, it was a lie and even a child would realize it but by some kind of miracle, Tomas let it go. Marcus should have known not to trust his luck. 

*** 

When the coughing started, Tomas took control of the driving. He gave orders that Marcus had to follow and decided they would stop at a motel that appeared less shady and gross than many places they had stayed before. All without actually having control of the car. 

It was still too far away from the family they were supposed to help next, but Tomas didn't accept any of Marcus’ reasoning and honestly, Marcus was too tired to keep fighting with a stubborn bugger. 

Trying to move wasn't the smartest of his ideas. The ground under his feet felt unstable and his head spun so fast that he lost his balance as soon as he exited the car. Tomas was right there to catch him but when his cold hands brushed against Marcus' overheated skin a hiss escaped his lips, followed by a Spanish curse that Marcus decided to ignore. 

"Fine my ass, Marcus." 

Perfect, he thought, what he really needed right now was to be scolded by a hyper-protective priest. 

"I'm fine. Just need to sleep it off," he tried to reason with Tomas: if only the ground would stop moving and he could focus his thoughts, he would probably have been more convincing. 

The cold air of late autumn helped clear his mind a bit but it also made his whole body shake like a leaf. His leather jacket wasn't enough to keep him feeling even barely warm. 

As a testament to how shitty he felt, Marcus didn't even argue when Tomas pushed him into the room he just booked, without checking it first, and led him to one of the beds before turning up the thermostat. 

"Lay under the blankets and rest." 

Marcus recognized an order when he heard one. He wasn't good at following them but at least he could still say when someone was ordering him around. 

Tomas used his "don't fuck with me" voice and Marcus knew he was screwed. He couldn’t deny Tomas when he was in that mood. 

To get rid of his shoes, jacket and jeans was harder than he could remember and for a moment he thought about giving up and crawling under the strangely soft duvet still dressed. But of course, that was one of his plans that Tomas didn't agree with.

In a moment Tomas was by his side, clumsily helping him out of his clothes. It would have been embarrassing if Marcus wasn't too exhausted to forget the growing crush he had on Tomas. 

After, he tucked Marcus into bed, adding one more blanket on the already remarkable pile he was lying under and only when he was satisfied with his work he left Marcus alone. 

"Stay here and for God's sake, don't move," Tomas said before he grabbed his jacket and disappeared out of the door without giving Marcus time to react. 

Move? Was he mad? Marcus knew his limits well enough to know that the only thing his body would allow him to do was to surrender to the fever and pass out.   
Marcus woke up - unceremoniously and too soon - when something heavy dropped on him. His unfocused and blurry eyes recognized it as a plastic bag, filled to the brink with all kind of medicines. 

Cough drops and NyQuil came out of it, then Tylenol and some other things that Marcus didn't recognize. All kind of things, natural and not, that people had used in history to lower a fever and help the body to get rid of the flu (and that no doubt had killed many who overdosed or mixed things that should never be mixed together). 

"Are you actually trying to kill me?" 

Marcus couldn’t add more. All the coughing he did made him feel like his ribs were ready to break and he could spit his lungs any moment. 

Tomas was back by his side and ready to feed him a spoonful of syrup and a couple of cough drops before he could ask what was going on or protest. 

Yes, Tomas was definitely trying to kill him. And if it wasn't Tomas attempting to take his life -- through too much care -- it was his own body. 

One moment his whole body would sweat and it would feel like being in hell under the blankets, but when he dared to get rid of them, the ice of Antarctica would claim every fiber of his being. Marcus was ready to crawl into a hole and die alone, in misery and pain. 

The bed dipped when another body joined him, but his headache got worse and Marcus couldn't open his eyes to see what was going on. He almost didn't realize when a strong body was pressed against his shivering form. 

"Just let me take care of you tonight," Tomas whispered in his ear, nuzzling the back of his neck where his hair, soaked in sweat, was plastered against his feverish skin. 

That night, although delirious as high fever devoured him, Marcus didn't have any nightmares. Memories of a past never forgotten didn't lurk in darkness waiting to attack him. In Tomas' arms, open and vulnerable for the first time since he met the younger priest, Marcus found the peace he so much longed for and, for once, he was able to rest.


	2. Chapter 2

It all started during their last exorcism. The words in his Bible began to melt together and he couldn't focus on what he was saying. For a moment he feared that the Demon had been able to enter his mind without him realizing, but it looked like the thing was still too focused on spitting indecent curses at Marcus. 

It looked like those two had already met before, but this time the demon was wearing a ninety-year-old grandma that used to bake cookies and cakes for her family before she began to spit obscenities and piss over the Holy Bible. 

Marcus was so focused - and it was good that at least one of them had his head still in the game - that he didn't realize Tomas' voice faltered and some of the Latin that came out from his mouth was butchered. 

"Looks like the little cub is sick," the demon said and Tomas barely covered a curse. He could feel Marcus' eyes on him now, his attention switching from the demon and focusing on his shaking form. 

That wasn't good, it wasn't good at all. Marcus already carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and Tomas knew he felt responsible for him. For months Tomas had tried to show him he was strong enough to be by his side, and now he was failing once again. 

A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and helped him to keep a balance Tomas didn't know he was losing. In more ways than one, Marcus was his anchor and the thought of letting him down was painful. 

"Out," Marcus spat between his teeth, his free arm stretched out, the crucifix still in his hands keeping the demon away. "Get out of here." 

Tomas felt the strength the demons feared so much and this time it was used to push him away, towards the locked door. 

He never knew how Marcus managed to open the door and push him out. The last thing he heard before the door was closed on his face was Marcus sputtering a strict "vete". A hiss between his closed teeth. 

As soon as he was in the hallway his legs gave way under his weight and Tomas was forced to use the wall as support, but even that wasn't enough. His head spun and he felt nausea coming in waves, stronger and stronger. It was hard to focus and his sight was blurred enough that when he crashed to the ground, Tomas didn't even see the hideous pattern of the floor as it came up to meet his face. 

The pain exploding in his body after the fall made it easier for Tomas to think but didn't do anything for the sense of rejection he felt. 

Marcus still thought he was too soft, too weak to be an exorcist, not yet someone he could depend on. What other reasons could he have to throw him out of a room where a demon was devouring an old woman who couldn't hope to resist much longer? What other reason, if not the fact that he didn't trust Tomas to be strong enough to fight for her soul without falling? 

The scrape of shoes against the floor wasn't the only noise in the hallway. From the locked room Tomas could hear the loud thuds of bodies thrown against walls and the muffled curses that the demon was still voicing. He brought his knees close to the chest and curled up in a shivering ball. 

Breathing was hard, everything hurt, but he knew his place should have been in that room with Marcus, not outside feeling weak and useless. 

Tomas closed his eyes, just for a moment, to calm down his rioting stomach and the pounding headache, but when he opened them again everything was too quiet, except for the annoying voice calling his name and the hands that were shaking him too hard. 

The undefined form in front of his eyes was, probably, Marcus and he sounded so worried that Tomas asked what was wrong, did something happen during the exorcism? But all that came out from his throat was a strangled, hoarse sound that had more in common with a toad than a man. 

Only habit allowed Marcus to move in time before Tomas' breakfast ended up covering him. 

The curse that left Marcus' lips was worse than what the demon came out with and, if Tomas didn't already feel like he was dying, he would have liked to ask where exactly a priest had learned something so vulgar.

"...mas -Tomas can you hear me?" This time the hands didn't shake him. One was trying to keep him from falling in the puddle of his own sickness and the other brushed his forehead with so much care Tomas wanted, once again, to ask if something was wrong. 

He knew that Marcus could be gentle, he had seen him show that side of him to scared children that clung to him like he was their only beacon out of the horrors that possession always left behind. 

Only that side of Marcus was never for him. Not that Tomas held that against those children. They needed someone they could thank and trust and Marcus was worth their faith. He just wished, sometimes, when he was honest at least with himself and God in his prayers, that Marcus could look at him with the same kindness in his eyes. 

"Tomas?" 

This time Tomas tried to focus on Marcus' voice and raise his head to look straight into the eyes that had become a torment for his soul in the months spent together on the road. 

Marcus' words, about the need to leave everyone one loved behind, were a curse that Tomas didn't want to carry on his shoulders. He didn't want to leave Marcus behind, to lose him, he couldn't. 

Perhaps Marcus was right, he was too soft and his need to love and to be loved back was stronger than his need to do the right thing, but he didn't want to choose between God and Marcus. 

Strong arms hugged his torso and helped Tomas to get on his feet, carrying most of his weight. "Can you walk?" 

Tomas wasn't sure he could and was glad when the comforting feeling of Marcus' body so close wasn't taken away. They left the house with Marcus holding him, and Tomas would never admit how glad he was for that small gesture. 

Back in the car, after Marcus briefly spoke to the family they - he, an annoying voice corrected him inside his mind - had just helped, Tomas couldn't stop shivering and even trying to curl up on his seat proved to be a task too hard for his aching body. 

The unique scent of leather and Marcus' aftershave hit his nose, waking him up from a troubled slumber. Marcus' jacket was draped around him in the effort to keep him warm. 

Marcus still looked worried and Tomas couldn't stop feeling guilty. He never meant to add more on his plate than what was already there. 

"I should take you to the hospital." 

Marcus broke the silence saying what would be the most logical thing to do in any other situation. But theirs wasn't a normal road trip. There were people out there looking for them, and others in need of their help. Tomas couldn't think about stopping now. 

"No. I'll be fine." 

"You're not fine, Tomas," Marcus burst out, his light eyes harder than usual and fingers white as bones around the wheel. 

"I will be. I just need rest." 

Only Marcus' attention for details saved their car from wearing the proof of his lies. Tomas was still dry heaving when he dared to look at Marcus, standing by his side with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk on his lips. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're possessed. You tried to throw up on me twice in the past hour. Is there something you want to tell me?" 

What? Tomas had to take a double look at Marcus. He probably misunderstood the whole situation, but was this Marcus’ personal brand of teasing? 

"Don't you know? I always try to throw up on the people I like." He could still blame this on sickness and behave like he didn't remember anything he said. 

The rest of their trip back to the motel was silent and Tomas' splitting headache was glad for that. Tomas was worried he just messed up things between himself and Marcus even more, but he didn't have the energy to bring this up and try to explain himself. All he could do was to swallow his misery and hope that he could really forget what he had said. 

*** 

The room was like any other motel room Tomas slept in. Truth be told he hadn't been a fan before he left Chicago with Marcus. It had two beds and a bathroom and right now the second wasn't even so important. 

All he wanted to do was to crawl into a hole and die or to crawl under the blankets and die. 

"Can you stand a bit longer? You'll feel better if you wash your mouth and for sure you'll appreciate it when you'll wake up." 

Marcus was right, but the thought of walking all the way to the bathroom looked like crossing the desert to Tomas. He shook his head and moved towards the bed he had claimed as his, determined to disappear from the world when strong arms stopped him and carried him away from his coveted objective. 

When he tried to protest Marcus' thick accent told him to save his breathe and do what he was told for once in his life. 

That was rich, like he was the stubborn one between the two of them. 

Tomas made sure to give Marcus nasty looks the whole time he spent on his feet, in front of the sink, with his toothbrush dangerously dangling from a corner of his mouth. 

"Happy now, mom?" He asked after spitting in the sink for the third time in a vain attempt to get rid of the too minty taste now in his mouth. 

"Ecstatic." Was Marcus' dry answer, before he literally dragged Toms to bed. Good. At least he knew he was dead on his feet, Tomas thought with little enjoyment. 

Logically, Tomas knew that Marcus was right about brushing his teeth, but when he was sick he wasn't a logical creature, he was a child in an adult body. 

He turned as soon as he was tucked in bed, giving Marcus his back, offended by his mere presence. God, he was so childish, but he couldn't refrain from showing his worst bugs when sick. 

Twice more times that night Tomas got sick and Marcus never failed to be by his side. The first time nausea woke him up he thought he would mess his bed before a bucket was pushed under him a moment before acid burned its way out of his body. It had felt even grosser than the mental picture his brain was giving him now. 

When he was done Marcus cleaned the sweat coating his face with a wet towel, warm, but not in a way that could bother his feverish skin, and helped him to sip hot tea. Marcus was British to the core and he always said that there was nothing a good cup of tea couldn't fix. He was right. Tea felt heavenly and helped to set Tomas' stomach at least for a bit. 

The second time he was sick, Tomas opened his eyes and saw that Marcus' bed was empty. Panic caught him before he realized that Marcus was sat on a chair by his bed. A small smile tried to form on his lips before he was forced to throw up again. Even that sick, relief was clearly written all over his face. 

Everything hurt now. He didn't have anything in his stomach and the spasming muscles were killing him. That and the shivers that were so strong his teeth chattered even if he was hidden under a mountain of blankets.

Something warm and firm was suddenly pressed against his back and Tomas shifted his body, chasing the sensation of safety given by that new presence. 

"Marcus?" His voice was raspy from the acid burning his throat and Tomas didn't want to turn and look for himself. Who else could it be? Who else could ever hope to mean so much to him that Tomas trusted him implicitly? 

"I'm here, Tomas." Why did he never notice how his name, spoken by Marcus, sounded so much like a prayer? It was all in the inflection, in how Marcus' voice became softer, like when he spoke about God. 

"Good." He was so tired and he couldn't find the strength to talk now, to ask what that meant. He was a coward and wanted to keep the illusion of Marcus caring for him like he desperately needed him to, as long as possible. It didn't even matter if he was reading things that weren't there. For now, Marcus was by his side and that was almost enough.

"Eloquent." But no matter what, Marcus tightened his arms around Tomas' still shaking body and brought him even closer. 

"My mom always said I was good to cuddle with when she was sick." Tomas wanted to know more but didn't dare to ask. Marcus never spoke about his family or his past and Tomas suspected that not all his memories of that time were fond or good. For Marcus to speak about his mom was a gift that Tomas gladly accepted. 

"She was always cold. Always shivering like you are now." 

"She was right. You're good at this." And from where did those words come? Tomas wanted to kick himself. He wasn't supposed to keep saying things that would make Marcus run, or worse, expose his shameful secret. 

"Thank you." Marcus was absently slipping his fingers between Tomas' messy hair. It had a soothing effect on him and soon enough the tension in his body began to melt away while exhaustion crept in. 

"Tell me more about her?" He dared to ask. He didn't want to fall asleep now, knowing that probably, as soon as his eyes closed, Marcus would leave his side. He wanted to keep their closeness, needed it too. 

"She was a small woman. Much smaller than you are. Even if I was a child, she looked more fragile than I ever was." So much pain in those words, Tomas couldn't understand how someone who loved so deeply had survived all the losses and heartbreaks that life put in his path, 

"She wasn't a good mother, but she was my mum. She was good to tell me stories of the past. I don't know how she knew so much about Shakespeare. When she took me for a walk she always had a new story to add to her collection. I liked those moments." 

She sounds - complicated," Tomas finally added after a small pause. He didn't want to offend her or Marcus, but he didn't really know what word to use to talk about a woman he never met and who seemed to raise different and somehow opposite emotions in Marcus.

"She wasn't. She loved alcohol more than she loved life. She stayed with my father because she didn't know where else to go. She wasn't complicated, she chose a path that destroyed her." 

"I'm sorry," Tomas said with all the sincerity he could put in that simple sentence. It wasn't pity but he didn't know what else to show to a man who kept his emotions so closed off and guarded. 

"Don't be. It's not your fault." 

Another shiver shook Tomas' body and Marcus adjusted the blankets around his shoulders, making sure that he was almost completely hidden. 

When he finished, Tomas startled himself when he felt his hand close with force around Marcus’ wrist. Marcus’ hands felt nice and cool against his fever heated skin, but as soon as he’d done it he worried about the desperation Marcus would be able to read behind the gesture. 

 

"Don't go." 

"I'm right here." 

But Tomas didn't want to let him go. He couldn't. There was this thing, an unconscious fear inside his mind, that if he did, Marcus would disappear. 

"Don't go. In general. Just don't go." 

Tomas knew he sounded clingy and childish, but the thought of being alone again -- yes, now he could admit that before their meeting, he had been alone. Marcus had taught him how to really love God, had taught him about a world around him that he never believed could exist. Marcus was a mentor and a friend, and so much more. The thought of going back to a life without him was unbearable. 

"You aren't making any sense, Tomas. Why would I go when I found the physical manifestation of my love for God? Don't you know that what I feel for you, is the reflex of the love I learned from him?" 

Tomas wasn't sure he was really hearing those words he needed to hear. He didn't know if he was brave enough to hope. He had seen the light die in Jessica's eyes when he said goodbye and knew that, unlike her, he wouldn't be able to keep going if he lost Marcus. 

"What are you saying, Marcus?" 

He needed to know before he revealed his heart, he needed to be sure that Marcus meant what his words said. 

"That I won't leave, Tomas. I'm here as long as you will have me. You won't have to choose between me and God; I'll never put you in that position." 

But Jessica would have. Now he knew. Jessica didn't know what it meant to Tomas to serve God. Marcus knew. Marcus would never ask for more than what God himself gave them. 

"Promise me." 

"I promise you that I’ll be here when you'll wake up. I promise to pick you up when you fall. I promise you a shelter when you need rest and an anchor when you'll need strength." 

Marcus' voice didn't falter, powerful like Tomas first heard him in his dreams but also immensely kind, like a gentle whisper stroking his very soul. 

Those words sounded like a vow, a promise that he would never break because if Marcus Keane was anything, he was loyal until his last breath. 

Tomas curled up even more in his arms, his heart finally free from the weight that he carried alone for so long. 

"I promise the same." He swore, His voice was still weak and he was so tired he could sleep for a week, but Tomas was also determined to prove to Marcus that he too was there to stay. 

Gently Marcus nuzzled his hair like a lion would with his cub. "For now focus on getting better. I'm not going anywhere, you're not going anywhere, we have all the time that God will allow us to have. Just rest and let me watch over you." 

Tomas didn't say anything else. He didn't need to voice how much he trusted Marcus. Actions spoke volumes more than mere words and he fell asleep in his arms, safe like he hadn’t felt in months, all because Marcus was there, watching over him.


End file.
